Home Is Wherever I'm with You
by HermioneGirl96
Summary: A fluffy little conversation during Baz's last term at Watford, between the end of the book proper and the beginning of the epilogue. Baz is visiting Simon in Hounslow and they discuss home, love, and past mistakes. A one-shot.


**Disclaimer: Rainbow Rowell owns the characters and the setting. The title apparently belongs to Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, which is a band whose name I did not know until I Googled it just now. **

I was never one of those people who loved the weekends. Until now, that is. I've always loved school, and learning, and structured time, so weekdays were always my favourite. Not this term, though. This term, Simon isn't at Watford. That makes class feel empty, and it makes structured time feel like a set of distractions thrown up in front of me to prevent me from reaching Simon. Simon, who now likes me. Apparently. (He says so, at least.) (I'm fairly certain I can trust him on this one.)

Father gave me the Jag when I went back to Watford for this term, and Headmistress Bunce has revoked the Mage's ridiculous ban on mobiles, so I get to have some contact with Simon even though he's not at Watford. Not enough contact, of course—I'm not convinced any amount of contact with him could ever be enough—but some. Weekdays we text and call, even if it's just to listen to each other breathing, and weekends I visit him. This has made me hate Sunday nights with a passion I had previously reserved for the Mage. Sunday nights tear me away from Simon. Where they used to promise a return of order, they now promise a return of bereavement. Not just for me, either—for Simon, too. That hurts me more, I think, to know he's lonely and hurting and that I keep leaving him. That's worse than my own loneliness.

It's Sunday night again, and we've been making out in the back seat of the Jag since we left the restaurant where we ate dinner. Now, though, my mobile buzzes in my pocket, letting me know that it's 8:00 and I need to take Simon back to the Bunces' and then drive back to Watford. I pull back from Simon reluctantly, rest my forehead against his, and say, "I think it's about time to get you home, love."

Simon's eyebrows cinch together. "What do you mean?"

I frown. I know he's not actually an idiot, so how can he be confused? "It's eight o'clock. Time to take you to the Bunces'."

"Oh," says Simon, chuckling weakly. "Right."

I begin trying to sort myself, smoothing my hair, adjusting my shirt. "What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing," Simon mutters.

I stop fussing with my shirt and look at Simon. He's looking at his lap. I take his hand. "Come on, love, please tell me?"

Simon squirms, continuing to stare at his lap. Finally he says, "You know the only home I ever had was at Watford with you, right?"

I manage not to gasp aloud, but I can't help inhaling a bit sharply. Simon has a way of saying the simplest, most obvious things sometimes that lays me bare. I trace a finger down his cheek and say, "No, I hadn't quite put that together. You really don't feel at home with the Bunces?"

Simon shrugs. For a minute, I think that's all the answer I'm going to get, but then he says, "There's only space for me because Premal's left, and I keep knocking things over with my wings and tripping people with my tail. Everyone but Penny can't wait for me to leave."

I kiss him on the cheek and say, "I'm sorry."

Simon shrugs again. "Not your fault."

"I know, but you deserve a home."

"It's all right. This is more than I ever had as a kid."

"I know," I say, "and that bloody breaks my heart." What I don't say is how much I hate myself for teasing him about not having a home back when we were kids. Merlin, I was such a git to him, all the time. It's a wonder he doesn't hate me.

Maybe my self-loathing is a little too evident on my face, because Simon puts his fingers beneath my chin and lifts it up gently to coax me into looking at him. I nearly swoon, just at the fact that Simon's touching me, gently and of his own accord. I'd had no idea this boy could do anything gently until a few months ago. I'm nowhere near used to it. "Baz," Simon says, "what is it?"

"You know you should hate me, right, Snow?" Good Merlin, what is with me? My voice sounds thick, like I'm either ill or trying not to cry.

Simon, bless him, moves his hand from my chin to my neck and kisses my cheeks, and then my nose, and then, briefly, my lips. "Baz. We've been over this. You have reasons to hate me. I have reasons to hate you. We love each other instead. We've saved each other's lives, so—"

My brain catches up with what Simon's just said, and I take hold of his hand that's resting on my neck. "Simon. What did you just say?"

Simon looks suddenly nervous. Oh dear. Was that an _accident_? "Oh. Um. 'We've saved each other's lives'?"

"No." I shake my head. "Before that."

Simon's eyes widen. Now he looks _panicked_. "'We love each other'? I'm sorry, was I wrong about that? Is it too early? I shouldn't have just sprung that on you. Don't feel like you have to say it back. I'm—"

I cut him off with a kiss. He responds enthusiastically, slipping his tongue into my mouth and moving his free hand into my hair. After several long moments, I pull back and say, "I love you too, you nightmare. Of course I love you. But you really—after everything? You don't have to—"

Now Simon's the one silencing _me_ with a kiss. When it's over, he says, "Baz, I love you so much. And not because I have to. Not out of _obligation_. I just can't help it. Not when you're so caring and selfless and gorgeous and clever and graceful and—"

I roll my eyes. "I can assure you that I most definitely am _not_ selfless, or I'd have lit myself on fire a long time ago for the greater good."

Simon grimaces. "I'm so sorry, Baz."

I frown. "What for?"

He squeezes my hand. "For ever calling you a monster. For trying to out you as a vampire. For being an utter git about your entire situation for so many years. But I want you to know, both as your boyfriend and as your ex-nemesis, that you deserve to live, and that setting yourself on fire would absolutely _not_ serve the greater good."

I let my head fall forward because his eye contact is far too much. "You're too good for me."

He brushes aside my hair just enough to kiss my cheek. "No such thing."

A moment later, he withdraws, and I look up to see him checking his phone. "Penny's asking why I'm not back yet."

I open my car door and immediately regret it as the cold air hits me. I get out of the back seat and into the driver's seat. Simon follows suit, getting out of the car and then getting into the passenger seat. I don't immediately start the car, though, and Simon asks, "Are you okay?"

I stiffen. I love Simon, yes, but has that question ever _not _felt intrusive? "Fine, Snow."

Simon takes my hand. "I don't want to keep you too long because I want you to get some sleep tonight, but please give me a real answer, Baz."

I close my eyes. Maybe I can do this if I can't see him. "I just have so many regrets. It never felt good to hurt you—well, almost never—but it feels so much worse now that you care about me, and now that I've seen you without your armor."

Simon gives my hand a squeeze. "Hey. We're both at fault here. I spent years telling everyone you were a vampire. And I threw the first punch loads of times—more than you, probably."

I open my eyes. "Yeah, but I goaded you."

Simon shrugs. "Doesn't mean it was right for me to hit you."

"Given what I said, I think maybe it does."

Simon kisses my cheek. "We don't need to argue. The point is, you don't have to hate yourself."

"I never said I hated myself."

Simon shoots me a look. "You remember that I know you, right?"

"Oh. Right," I say, because I have no better response.

Simon checks his phone again and then says, "I think we should get back, sorry."

I start the car, and Simon says, "If I tell you I love you enough times, will it help?"

I'm grateful I haven't fed in a while, or I'd be blushing. "Maybe," I admit.

"Okay," says Simon perkily. "I love you, Baz Pitch. I love the way you kiss me and the way you care about me and the way you listen to me and the way you hold me. I love the way you've fought for me. I love your intelligence and your vocabulary and your determination and your ruthlessness and your fashion sense and your smile and your laugh. I love that you call me every night and visit every weekend, even though I know you have better things to do. I love . . ."

He doesn't stop until we get to the Bunces'.

"Here you are, Snow," I say once I've parked. "Not-home."

Simon just grins at me. "Don't be silly. I'm home right now. I just won't be when you leave. Home is wherever I'm with you."

One of these days I really am going to swoon.


End file.
